Stone Soup Editors

In Part One, Mrs. Davids happily starts her teaching job and marries a doctor. Three years later, she is no longer happy; her husband has left home one day and never come back. She begins taking out her frustrations on her students, including Grace, the writer, Peter, the math whiz, and Danny, the class clown. Only Flora Pinecrust, the straggly but imaginative new girl in her class, seems to understand her. The next day I told Flora I wanted to speak with her about her paper at lunch time. She came and sat very quietly while I praised her imagination. All this time she was supposed to be eating her lunch, but I saw out of the corner of my eye that she had nothing. “Flora,” I said, “are you hungry?” “So hungry I could eat the school,” she cried with passion. I was startled by her outburst. “Did your mother forget to pack you a lunch?” “My mother never packs me lunches. I do it myself.” I nodded and thought that Flora must be a disorganized, forgetful girl. That couldn’t be helped. I decided to share my own lunch with her before the rest of the pupils returned from the cafeteria. I didn’t eat very much. I gave her half of my cheese sandwich, which she gobbled immediately. She ate my peach and most of my celery sticks, but I figured since she was a growing girl she was allowed to eat more. She didn’t even thank me. The next day as I walked past the cafeteria I heard shouts and laughter. Glancing in I saw practically all the children dancing around throwing food. Their target was the corner and cowering in that corner was Flora Pinecrust. “She says she’s hungry!” cried Danny. “Here, take my pie!” The flaky hunk of pie went whirling through the air and landed on Flora’s soft brown hair. She pulled it off and stuffed it in her mouth. She seemed to be enjoying the game. I was appalled that Danny, someone in seventh grade, would act so childish. Just then I saw my well-behaved Grace Matthews trying to scrub the mess off Flora, but at the same time she was saying, “You can’t spell. You must be really stupid. You can’t spell.” Peter Tyner was the only person who didn’t do a thing to injure Flora. He stood there looking distressed and bewildered. “Oh, Ms. Cunningham,” he said once he saw me. “Look what they’re doing to Flora.” “I see.” I grabbed his arm. “Come with me to Mr. Hammil’s office, quick!” Both of us walked speedily toward the principal’s throne room. All the while Peter told me how the other children had even taken his lunch and thrown it at Flora. Therefore he had nothing to eat. I told him he could survive but Flora’s only chance of eating was getting food from other people at lunch time. “You mean she doesn’t have any breakfast or dinner?” “That’s right, Peter,” I said, although I didn’t know that for a fact. Mr. Hammil was very cold to me since I had refused to be matron-of-honor at his wedding. He told me it had nothing to do with me or the school how hungry Flora was, and, as for the food fight, whoever was monitor in the lunchroom could take care of that. I had forgotten we had monitors. That afternoon as I walked home I heard the soft patter of feet behind me. I turned to see Flora walking home, too. I smiled at her and asked if we could walk together. “Come raspberry picking with me,” I said, “In the park, and take some home to your family. They don’t cost any money. They’re free.” I tried to impress this on her, but she seemed to be daydreaming. I told her how I made raspberry jam at home, and how I sometimes put them in pies, and how good a glass of cold raspberry juice was on a hot day. *  *  *  * “My friends, we are all going to write a story using imagination. It doesn’t have to make sense. It can be the most ridiculous thing in the world. Do you understand?” “No!” cried Grace. “How ridiculous can it be?” “Oh, you can become smaller or larger, like in Alice in Wonderland. You can have a character marry one hundred times. There can be magicians. It’s just a fantasy all your own. Your Imaginative Fantasy. Now you may all go to lunch and think about it because when you get back we’ll begin writing. Flora, stay here.” The boys and girls dispersed, and Flora stood before me. Looking questioningly she said, “Yes, Ms. Cunningham?” “I have something for you,” I smiled, bringing out a large brown bag from underneath my desk. “But, Ms. Cunningham, I brought raspberries.” She showed me a huge plastic bag full of the raspberries we had picked the day before. “Well, just raspberries isn’t enough. I insist you eat some of the good food I packed for you.” Feeding Flora became a regular ritual of the day, and I found myself telling her a lot about my life. I couldn’t figure out why I did it, but she seemed a very understanding person. I hadn’t yet told anyone how it hurt me when my husband deserted me. But I told Flora! Of course she was just a child, and I was burdening her with my problems. In some ways I felt guilty. But she became my little friend. The rest of the class knew it well, and snubbed both me and Flora. Flora told me to ignore them, as I was prone to worry. “As long as we’re happy, let it be,” she said. And I think she was right. *  *  *  * Among the stories my class had written, I sought out Flora’s first. Her papers were always the most enjoyable. However, she had not followed the assignment correctly again. Instead of a story she had written a personal letter to me. Deer Ms. Cunningham, You hay told a lot about yourself. I feal like I’m keeping a secret frum you. I hay no home. I sleep in the hotel lobbi all night. Before I came heere I lived in another state. I lived in the cuntry and my parents were nice, but I had to leev, becuz one day they left and they didn’t cum bak. I never went to scol before, but my muther red me many good books. I am trying to find a home,